Winning Hand
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Love beats fear every time.


_First appeared in _Route 666 #3 _(2010), from Ashton Press_

**Winning Hand**  
K Hanna Korossy

_ "They jumped me outside the laundromat," Sam began tonelessly, eyes on the pink plush motel carpet. A pause, then he shook his head once. "I didn't even hear them coming until…" He swallowed._

_ He could feel Dean lean forward, saw the shift of denim legs in the fringe of his vision. "Vampires move fast and quiet, Sam, you know that. Probably wasn't anything to hear."_

_ Sam nodded at the ground. "I, uh… I tried to fight back, but, you know, super strength, bad odds, no dead man's blood or machetes when you need them…" He tried for a laugh, but it sounded shaky and sick. _

_ Dean's voice, in contrast, was soothing, firm. "How many?"_

_ "Uh…" Sam rubbed at his jeans. "Maybe four? Not really sure. I know sh-she was there." _

_ Dean's knees knocked against his. "You're doing fine, Sam. No rush, okay?" _

_ Sam nodded again. "So, uh, they knocked me out, and when I woke up, I was…there." _

_ "In the cage?"_

_ Sam nodded, jaw clenched so hard, it felt like his teeth might buckle from the strain. "I didn't get out again until you got there." _

00000_  
_

It was, in a lifetime full of candidates to choose from, one of the worst places Dean had ever been.

The smell hit them as soon as the door was wrenched open, a suffocating mix of waste and blood and death. It was a good introduction to what waited below as Dean tore down the basement stairs.

Cages. Lots of cages. All of them occupied, not all by the living.

He searched frantically among the large metal pens, swallowing hard to keep rising nausea at bay as each cage revealed yet another wretched captive: emaciated, filthy, weak. Some were clearly just food, necks bloodied, strength gone, eyes bleak. Others were in the process of being turned and growled at the intruders, their lips stained with red. And others were… Dean wiped his mouth with the blade of his hand as he kept going. From the state of the bodies, some of them had been there days if not weeks.

Oh, God, how could Sam be here?

And then he saw him.

His brother was propped in the corner of a cage by the wall, head turned away from the light and nearly hanging to his chest. There was no blood on him that Dean could see, and his chest rose and fell, if a little too quickly and unevenly. But he didn't respond to the din of the arriving hunters, not even to Dean's yell of his name.

Dean was next to him a second later, crouched on the other side of the iron bars, suddenly afraid to touch. His throat ached around the "Sammy" he murmured as he finally skimmed the stringy hair, then reached through the bars to gently grasp the tilted-away chin. "Hey."

Sam's head turned easily with his tug, loose-muscled as if he were unconscious. But his eyes were open, Dean could see now, fixed on nothing, and he was shaking lightly.

"God, Sammy, look at you," Dean whispered, hand rising to brush greasy bangs out of the way.

Sam flinched minutely from him, face still vacant.

That was when the vampires attacked.

Dean spared a glance back and nodded to himself. He withdrew his hand and swung around to the front of Sam's cage, lock-pick set already in hand. Sam's set.

"Listen, I have to go do some clean-up here, but you can come out if you want or you can wait for me, okay? I'll be back in a minute, Sam, then we'll take care of you." The door swung outward, and it took all Dean had not to go inside after his brother. But Sam was probably safer there for the moment, and would need more than Dean could give him in the few seconds they had. Instead, Dean shoved his spare blade inside the cage door, dropping it on the floor and vowing one more time, "I'll be right back." Then he tore himself away and stood, his brother behind him.

He let the fury flow as he moved in, let it pump through him with the insane jolt of adrenaline, let it give him speed and strength as he lopped off the first vampire's head and then joined the fray. Let it take over a little, even, because he didn't remember much of the next few minutes, just blood, and steel against bone, and the memory of Sam in that cage. Something sliced along his back, but he barely felt it. The hunters yelled directions to each other, the vampires hissed and snarled their anger at the attack. Somebody moaned; several screamed.

"Dean, behind you!"

Rooney's voice, but Dean was occupied at the moment with a bloodsucker that was currently trying to sink its canines into his neck. He gritted his teeth and did the best he could to turn to one side, make himself as small a target as possible, but his back hunched in preparation for a strike.

It never came. There was a howl from behind, high-pitched, female. Dean concentrated on keeping his neck unpunctured. By the time he managed to force the vamp away enough to behead it and turn around, the threat had been neutralized.

And was currently being hacked into pieces. By Sam.

Dean stared, stunned. His would-be killer had just been a teenage girl…once, anyway. Now, she was a heap of body parts, ever smaller and bloodier ones as Sam whacked the machete down over and over. He was splashed with her blood, but his face…

"Sam," Dean whispered.

Sam hesitated on the upstroke, made to bring the blade down again. Then he suddenly stopped. Bloodshot eyes choked with despair met Dean's for the briefest moment, and then the machete fell. Sam's legs threatened to send him down after it.

Dean lunged for him. The fight behind them was dying down, the tide definitely turned. Let the others finish up; he had more pressing concerns.

Sam was shaking even harder, but otherwise he was back to limp compliance, body folding gracelessly against Dean's. Dean gathered him up, turning him away from the gory mess beside them, then curling around him. Protecting, too little too late.

Still, he had to make this better.

"I gotcha, Sam. I gotcha. Didn't like her, huh? Dude, you're one scary mother when you're ticked off." He felt the unnatural gallop of Sam's heart, and maneuvered him so he was sitting sideways against Dean, head slumped into the plane of Dean's shoulder. Dean pulled his brother's collar back, studied the unbroken skin of his neck, then started to look lower. "Yeah, okay, you're all right now. You're all right."

Sam didn't respond, and as Dean craned around to see his face, the blank look was back.

Dean chuffed a strained laugh. "Can't blame you for checking out—I wouldn't mind doing that a little myself right now."

He'd moved down to Sam's forearm, and Sam suddenly jerked.

Dean gentled as he started to roll the torn sleeve up. "Let's see what's behind door number one," he muttered, shushing Sam absently when his brother twisted faintly in his hold. A few moments later and Dean could see why.

There was only one bite mark, but from the extensive multi-colored bruising around it and its freshness, Dean guessed it had been used repeatedly. Like someone had worried about marking Sam up. Dean tucked that information away and carefully rotated the forearm. The circle of fang marks were sunk deep into the sensitive flesh of the inner arm and looked incredibly painful. He only brushed his thumb near one puncture, and Sam stiffened, breathing faster.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Dean soothed him, hating that he had to say it. "Sam, I won't touch it again right now, okay?"

No response. Sam was nearly panting, but his body was slack. Dean couldn't help wish the guy was hysterical instead, falling apart, because this…absence was scaring him.

"Let's check out this one, too," he said, and slipped Sam's arm free from between them. Another bite mark was imprinted into the skin there. No wonder Sam's heart was hammering; he had to be a few quarts low at this point.

Dean was vaguely aware the din behind him had died down, but Marco stepped over to them now, drawing Dean's gaze upward.

"Sam?"

It was only because it was the query of a friend that Dean even bothered answering. "He'll be all right," he said flatly. "Fangs?"

"Fifteen, all dead. Good thing we had reinforcements."

Dean glanced up over Sam's head, absently pulling him closer, hiding him even from the curious eyes of their fellow hunters. "Victims?"

"Still counting. Looks like at least a half-dozen still living, but they're all gonna need a hospital. Gonna have to put a few down."

Dean nodded. "Check for anything personal in the nest. I want to know who these bastards were." And why they'd come after Sam.

Marco dipped his head, then tilted it toward the younger Winchester. "He need a hospital, too?"

"No, I'll take care of him."

Another jerk of the head and, as he left, Marco clapped Dean's shoulder then, more lightly, Sam's.

Sam jolted like he'd been shot, gasping for breath and nearly tumbling out of Dean's hold.

"Hey, whoa!" Dean grabbed and half-turned him, ducking down to meet wild, almost animalistic eyes. "Sam, take it easy! It's just me, okay? Nobody else is getting near you, I promise."

There was still no intelligence, no recognition in the muck-brown eyes, but Sam calmed, frowning. His head finally dropped to Dean's chest in what seemed like utter exhaustion.

"Good boy," Dean said quietly. "Nothing's gonna hurt you now." He finished his quick triage to find no more than bruises and lost weight. Sam's eyes sank shut along the way, his breath finally slowing some, although he was still shivering and panting. Dean barked a request to a nearby hunter for some water and eased out of his jacket one arm at a time to bundle Sam into it. Even half-asleep, Sam balked at the water at first, then seemed to resign himself and drank.

The smell of the rank basement had grown less choking as Dean got used to it, but he still couldn't wait to get out of there, to get Sam out of there. Still, he couldn't quite leave yet, not before clean-up was finished, before he had a few more answers. He finally compromised by coaxing his swaying brother to his feet and up the stairs. At least they could wait upstairs where the air was fresher and there wasn't blood and bodies everywhere.

Several of the victims from downstairs had already been brought up and were laid out on the nest's beds. Dean steered his brother to an unoccupied sofa, sinking down along with him and dragging him close again when Sam moaned and shifted uneasily. Whether it was Dean's body heat or his presence, something settled Sam's distress, and he drifted again.

"Any of these the kid's?" Rooney loomed in front of them with a handful of cell phones, wallets, and jewelry.

Dean freed a hand to snag Sam's phone and money clip, and almost laughed when he pulled out the cheap black bracelet his brother wore. The little details were almost surreal.

In all, the nest seemed newly formed, barely any personal belongings to be found. The basement gave up seven half-dead victims, at least one probably beyond help, and another ten bodies including two kids. Three initiates were beheaded and hauled out of their cages to be burned with the rest.

Dean shook his head: even when he expected it, the cruelty of the creatures they fought still sometimes sickened him. The thought that they'd had Sam for almost two weeks, of what they'd put him through to shut him down like that, was more than Dean could think about just then.

He had Sam. The nest was exterminated. Time to pick up the pieces and move on.

He had to carry Sam out to the car, his brother either finally passed out or asleep. The hunters knew better than to offer any help, and Dean only spared them a quick glance and a nod before he drove away.

00000

_ "They feed you?" Dean prodded. _

_ Sam fought down a flare of anger at the stream of questions, but it was quenched just as fast as the care in his brother's voice soaked in. This was hard for Dean, too. Heck, if the tables were turned, Sam wasn't sure he'd be able to sit there and listen to Dean tell this story. He bowed his head a little lower. "Some," he said quietly. "Some bread and water every day, just 'nough to keep us alive." _

_ He could feel Dean nod, the vibration passing through where their legs touched. He encouraged Sam with his patient silence._

_ Sam pulled in a breath. "Then, uh…after a while, I realized the water they were giving us was pink." _

_ He felt Dean freeze beside him. _

_ Dean had already tested him for conversion; Sam knew that wasn't what he was afraid of. But the fear of not knowing, the possibility of blood-borne disease, the sheer disgust: Sam knew all the issues Dean was running through in his head because he'd had ample opportunity to dwell on the same. He shook his head numbly. "I tried…I tried not to drink it, but they kept f-feeding and I was so thirsty. Dean, I couldn't—"_

_ "Hey, hey." A hand curled around his shoulder, sliding over to his neck. "You did what you had to to survive. I got no problem with that, Sam. We'll deal with the rest later." _

_ God, he was pathetic, having trouble pushing out a few words even here in the safety of their room, Dean right next to him. It was ridiculous how he couldn't seem to breathe unless his brother was in physical contact with him. Sam shut his eyes, rubbing them tiredly with one hand. _

_ The back of his neck was lightly squeezed, like a mother dog the scruff of its pup. "You wanna take a break now, get some sleep? We can finish this later."_

_ Sam's mouth dried at the thought of gathering his courage to start talking again, and he shook his head. His hair, no longer disgusting, slid softly across his forehead. _

_He blinked back the water in his eyes and went on, knowing Dean could probably barely hear him but unable to say it any louder. Even this hurt._

_ "She fed from me a little every day…"_

00000

He'd debated just putting Sam to bed and letting him sleep for a while, recoup his strength. But Dean couldn't bear the thought of him waking up this much of a mess, and he finally dragged Sam into the bathroom and propped him up on the toilet, hip-checking him to keep him from sliding off.

The disgusting clothes came off first, to be stuffed into the trashcan under the sink. Sam didn't react to the shower or scrub, just leaned his head back when Dean nudged him to so he could rinse the long hair. Back on the toilet, bundled in every single towel, he stared unresponsively at the far wall as Dean started cleaning the bite wounds.

When Sam's free hand rose slowly from his lap, Dean was surprised enough to stop and watch it, wondering if Sam was finally going to snap out of it. But he just wrapped his long fingers around Dean's own bared forearm, grip neither tight nor loose.

"Dean."

It was the first word he'd actually spoken, and Dean was ridiculously glad to hear it was his name. Even if Sam sounded hollowed out, even if nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, it meant Sam knew who he was with, knew he was safe now. "Yeah, Sammy," he encouraged.

Sam's hand withdrew, falling back down into his lap.

Dean's eyebrows rose. "Right. Don't want to overdo it right out of the gate. That's cool." He went back to sterilizing the wound with soap, holy water, and antibiotic cream.

Another few minutes went by, then Sam's hand rose again, again touching his arm. "Dean."

It was just a whisper of sound, not a question, not even a realization. Just…stating a fact.

Was Sam checking for him? Looking for warmth? Or just desperate for human contact? Dean hadn't quite figured it out but didn't answer this time. He hesitated, then slipped the hand up that had been holding Sam's forearm steady to his elbow in a mirrored position.

Sam let him go and faded out once more.

"Okay, that's a little weird," Dean mumbled. "I don't suppose you want to tell me what my line's supposed to be?" Silence. "Yeah, didn't think so. But, hey, if that's what you need, bro, you go for it."

Sam blinked slowly, tiredly.

Dean finished up one arm and went on to the other. Sam repeated his act three more times, and Dean figured out by the end that if he just stopped and let Sam take whatever he needed out of this, Sam would hang on to him for long minutes, breathing deeply, before he let go. It seemed to steady him, and his pulse and respirations had slowed to less worrisome levels by the time Dean was done.

He dressed Sam in his warmest clothes and relocated him to the room, under the covers in one of the beds. Then Dean turned away to take care of a few things around the room: cranking the heat up a little, warming some water in the coffeemaker to fix a container of instant soup, collecting another blanket from the closet to spread over Sam. No life trickled into his little brother's eyes, but Dean could feel the blank gaze follow him around the room. Sam's eyes only closed when Dean approached with the soup.

"No way, man, no going to sleep yet. We have to get some fluids in you first, okay? Come on." He did most of the work helping Sam sit up some, then dropped a straw into the warm mug and took a sniff. "Mm-mm, chicken noodle, your favorite. Just, you know, without the chicken or the noodles right now—you don't exactly look up to chewing." Dean smiled fleetingly. "Hey, you know, when you were a kid, this was the only soup you'd eat. Drove Dad crazy whenever he accidentally bought alphabet soup or minestrone." He cocked his head. "I woulda thought you'd like alphabet soup, geek like you."

Sam's eyes began to sink shut again.

Dean sighed and prodded his mouth with the straw.

In all, he got about two-thirds of it into Sam, which was more than he'd expected. When Sam started to wearily choke on it, too tired to even swallow properly, Dean put the mug down and eased him flat again. Sam's eyes opened and shut languidly, gaze fixed somewhere about the middle of Dean's thigh.

"You can sleep now, kiddo. Everything's fine." Dean swept the drying bangs off his forehead, then dropped his hands self-consciously on his knees and pushed up. He was beyond tired himself, and now that he wasn't panicking about Sam's injuries, his own back was starting to ache in earnest.

Sam's eyes shot open.

Dean cocked his head. "I'm not going anywhere—I'll just be right over there, okay?" He gestured at the other bed.

Sam's hand curled into the sheets, collecting a white-jointed fistful.

Dean huffed out a breath and dropped back to the edge of the bed. "Yeah, what was I thinking—it's a whole three feet away." He sighed. "Go to sleep, Sammy. I'm here."

Sam's eyes grew heavy again. His hand slid over until his knuckles just touched Dean's leg, and his body sank into the bed by degrees. His respirations deepened and, for the first time, he looked and sounded like he was actually resting.

"I'm right here," Dean whispered. Then he scrubbed a hand over his face and gripped a handful of Sam's hoodie, holding it tightly until he could breathe normally again, too.

00000

_ "She knew Kate."_

_ Dean made a wordless sound of surprise__; they hadn't seen nor heard of the other vampire since their dad had killed her mate._

_ Sam nodded. "I guess…same circles, whatever. But she was scared of Kate, s-said…"_

_ Dean's hand, still cupped warmly around the back of his neck, moved up to ruffle his hair. "She's dead, Sammy. You killed her, remember?"_

_ It oddly didn't help, didn't even ease the fear, but Sam nodded again anyway. "Kate wanted me. Revenge for Luther, I guess. She was on her way, so they weren't allowed to kill me, just…"_

_ "…snack on you a little," Dean finished, fingers clenching minutely before loosening again. "Right. Nice folks, those bloodsuckers. Hang on a minute, Sam, okay?"_

_ Sam heard him move away, then Dean quietly talking on the phone, telling someone about Kate. Right, if she was going to turn up in the area, it would be good to be prepared. Sam wasn't sure who Dean was calling, but he had a vague memory of Dean not having shown up in the vampires' hellhole alone._

_ "Well, Kate's gonna be in for a surprise when she hits town." Dean slid back into place in front of him and this time captured Sam's wrist as he worried at a hole in his jeans. His grip gently turned Sam's forearm to bring the gauze into view. "So, that why you've only got the two bites?"_

_ Sam nodded, feeling a little like one of those stupid bobbleheads on people's dashboards, but it was easier to confirm what Dean said than to get it out himself. "She was careful to use the same spot," he said dryly._

_ Dean snorted in black humor. "Classy. This bitch have a name?"_

_ Sam closed his eyes. When he spoke, it was barely audible. "Carla."_

_ "Carla. Okay." That was it, just _okay_. It wasn't really, but it was better. _

_ Sam gathered his scattered thoughts. "But, uh, they killed some of the others, then they'd just…leave them there. They didn't care unless they needed the cage. It was too dark to see a lot, but you could hear it…and the smell…"_

_ "Yeah, I got some of that myself." Dean's strong grip kneaded the taut muscles of his arm. "That must've been awful."_

_ There was a long silence. Dean's touch was warm, but otherwise Sam felt cold all over. Blood loss, temporary, Dean had reassured him, but Sam knew it went deeper. Still, his brother would do anything he could, and Sam smiled a little into his lap as he saw Dean half-rise and stretch, then felt a blanket settle around his shoulders. _

_ "What aren't you telling me, Sam?" Dean finally asked._

_ Sam's eyes suddenly burned, and he wiped at them furtively, gaze skating up as far as Dean's elbows, then dropping back to the floor. "Dean—"_

_ "Hey, anything you did to make it out of there in one piece, I'm not gonna judge you for, all right? I promise." _

_ Sam's head swayed from side to side. "Not for me." _

_ "What?"_

_ "I didn't do it for me." He took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes again. His throat felt clogged. "She…she brought in this kid. And…she gave him some of her blood and said when he turned, they'd send him after his family unless I…" He couldn't swallow. The air felt heavy in his chest. _

_Dean dipped his head to meet Sam's eyes, but Sam shied away. "You what, Sam?"_

_"She left me a…an ax." _

_A pause. Then he heard his brother, master of the stoic reaction, breathe a horrified, "Oh, God." _

_Sam shrank down into himself. The hand disappeared from his wrist, and Sam felt a strangled sound push up through his swollen windpipe. _

_Hands grabbed his arms near the shoulders roughly, shaking him just a little. "You listen to me, Sam—you know I'm the first one to rub it in if you screw up. But you did _nothing wrong_ here. You picked the less bad of two crappy choices. That doesn't make it your fault. It just means life sucks sometimes."_

_ Sam flinched away from him. _

_ One of his arms was let go, and Dean's unrelenting grip moved to his chin, lifting his head. Sam tried to dodge his gaze, had been doing so for the last two days, but he just didn't have the energy anymore. _

_ Once Dean's eyes locked on to his, though, the hazel warm with compassion and sorrow and pride, Sam didn't want to look away again. _

_ "You get to be upset and trash the room, or throw a punch at me or, I don't know, cry if you want, Sammy, but you don't get to blame yourself. You got me? Am I clear?"_

_ Sam nodded mutely._

_ "Good. Is that everything?"_

_ His head didn't stop moving. _

_ "Okay." Dean's voice softened. "Okay. I meant what I said, Sam. You survived, you didn't let her beat you—that's what matters. You did good, all right?"_

_ He wasn't totally convinced, but there was absolute conviction in Dean's eyes, and Sam felt it slowly seep into him, too. It wasn't good, never would be, but it was…bearable. _

_ Dean searched his face a long moment, then, seemingly satisfied with what he found, massaged Sam's shoulders once and then let him go. "All right, enough Dr. Phil and more Dr. …Sleep," he finished lamely. _

_ Sam's mouth twitched tiredly. "Dr. Sleep?" The normalcy of it was almost intoxicating. _

_ "Shut up and lie down." _

_ He obeyed, feeling Dean sit next to him like he had every time. His brother checked his bandages, then pulled the blankets back up over him. "I'm okay, Dean," he said quietly. _

_ "I know," shot back the immediate answer. "You don't mind if I stay here a little anyway, do you? I mean, just to make sure you don't roll off the bed." _

_ Sam smiled and went to sleep. _

00000

Sam had slept for thirty-eight hours solid.

Well, almost solid. Dean woke him every few to make him swallow some more water and the juice he'd run out for earlier, and to check his awareness. Sam still didn't talk or make eye contact with him, but he only relaxed or let himself fall back to sleep when Dean was right there beside him. There was life lurking behind those dead eyes now, Dean could see it. His brother just needed some time to sort things out, and Dean could understand that. He said a few reassuring words, asked a few test questions, but otherwise just let Sam rest.

Besides, after spending the last too many days trying to find the vampires' lair and devising a plan that wasn't suicidal and bringing together the people to carry it out…well, Dean was a little tired himself. His back ached and his eyes felt raw, and while Sam slept, Dean curled up facing him and dropped off, too, sluggish and slow when he got up to look after Sam.

But by the next evening, Dean was getting a little anxious. Considering Sam hadn't said more than "Dean" nor stayed awake for over five minutes, he figured he had reason. There'd be no explaining the bite marks and blood loss to medical professionals, and not taking Sam to a hospital was still the right call. But Dean wasn't sure he was doing the best thing in its place. Was he supposed to be pushing Sam to respond? Just let him sleep undisturbed? Was this some kind of weird side-effect of being fed on long-term? Some vampire saliva inevitably got into a bite, right?

It didn't help when he realized Sam had woken up meanwhile and was staring at the far wall. No more reactive than before.

Dean sat on the bed next to him and dinged him on the nose. His brother barely winced. "Hey. Sam. C'mon, dude, give me some kind of sign here or I'm gonna start checking for zombie symptoms."

Sam just blinked.

Dean grimaced. "Don't do this, Sammy. Don't let them win. Just talk to me."

No change. Sam had apparently left the building.

Dean sagged a little, feeling unutterably tired. "You always did like to be the drama queen. Whenever you're ready, I'm here, okay?" He patted Sam's chest and stood.

The room swayed like a boat on choppy waters, his back suddenly a hot streak of pain. He'd tried to clean it off in the shower and see it in the mirror, without much luck on either count. Dean made it one step before he realized he wasn't sure which way was up anymore.

He almost caught himself. Could have reached out to balance against one of the two beds, or just shut his eyes and waited it out. No cut, even an ugly one he couldn't quite reach to clean properly, would take him down.

But Dean gave in to it. Let it bowl him over, sending him crashing to his knees, then down on one hand. His muscles wobbled with weakness and fatigue, the room settling into a gentle rocking. He simply couldn't seem to muster the fight. Just a minute, just a minute and then he'd get up…

A shadow fell over him, then crouched beside him. "Dean?"

It was relief that swamped him this time, but it made him just as dizzy. "I'm fine, dude."

"You're bleeding."

"That usually comes with getting cut."

There was a pause, a hesitation. Dean didn't breathe. Then an arm looped around his waist, pulling him upward. "Come on."

"Sam, you're not—"

"Shut up," Sam said, scratchy-voiced and all shades of weary and afraid. But at that moment, there weren't two words Dean would have rather heard.

Sam dropped him on the other bed, face down.

"Where's the kit?"

"Bathroom," Dean mumbled into bedclothes.

Thankfully, even a Sam at half-speed could understand muffled-Dean. As Dean peered back to watch him, his brother returned, limping and slow, with the snap of the first aid kit lock. It was set by Dean's hip, the metal corner digging into his waist.

Sam helped him out of his overshirt and tore the one underneath. There was no reaction Dean could hear to however his back looked, but the fingers that probed the edges of the wound were unexpectedly gentle and firm. "It's starting to get infected," Sam said softly.

Dean tried to glance over his shoulder. "Yeah, well, it's kinda hard to get to back there. Can you handle it?"

"Yeah."

Sam worked in complete silence, cleaning out the wound, disinfecting and salving it, then bandaging it. As soon as the last piece of tape was in place, he moved to get up.

"Stay here, Sam," Dean said flatly.

Sam slowly eased back down, skittish as a spooked horse.

Dean rolled his shoulders to feel the parameters of the injury and winced, then sat up and gingerly pulled his shirt back on. He eyed Sam, who didn't eye him back, just sat slumped and seemingly hopeless on the edge of the bed.

"C'mere," Dean said gently, getting up and tugging at his arm. His brother rose and plodded with him over to the set of chairs by their table. Dean pushed him down into one and took the other, pulling it up close. "Now you're gonna tell me what happened."

"Dean—"

"Naw, I'm pretty sure I wasn't the one who did this to you. Try again, Sam."

Sam's eyes started to drift out of focus.

Dean patted his cheek. "Sammy, stay with me. You can do this. Try again."

Sam's eyes dropped to the carpet. And after a minute, he started talking.

"They jumped me outside the laundromat…"

00000

_ Dean was all tense energy as he got back into the car, sliding his phone into his pocket. _

_Sam gave him a narrow look. "What?"_

_ Dean shook his head, less denial and more being too worked-up to speak. _

_ Sam gave him a few more moments, then, starting to freak out a little himself, repeated, "What is it?"_

_ "Kate got away." _

_ "Oh." Sam slumped into the seat. _

_ "Yeah, oh." Dean sat stewing a moment, then he must have looked over at Sam because his tone suddenly changed. "She's not gonna get you again, Sam." _

_ "I know." _

_ "Dude." There was just a beat this time, no hands manipulating him to look as when he'd had no strength of his own to do so, no forcing help on him. Just an earnest offer. _

_Sam looked up. _

_ "She is _not_ going to get you again." _

_ Sam smiled a little and nodded. Big brother promises weren't iron-clad—even Dean couldn't stop everything—but they were given with every ounce of resolution Dean had, and that still meant something._

_ Dean nodded back and started the car. _

_ Sam frowned. "What about lunch?"_

_ "I hear there aren't any good places in town," Dean said dismissively._

_ Sam's frown deepened; when did that ever happen? In fact, he'd thought he'd seen the awning of a diner a block back, and he glanced in the side mirror to confirm it. Yeah, there it was; he could just make out the name._

George and…Carla's Kitchen_. Oh._

_ Love was a winning hand: it beat fear every time. Sam settled into his seat, dropping his head against the back. "Wake me when we stop for lunch. And no donuts this time, man." _

_ Dean grumbled as he pulled out into the street._

_ Sam just grinned._

**The End**

_If anyone wants to read some excellent stories with the actual return of Kate, let me recommend those of two friends, Tyranusfan's "In the Pursqueeter" and AJ Wesley "Not My Type," both on this site, and both wonderful. - KHK_**  
**


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